Error in Judgment
by Grace O'Malley
Summary: Set shortly after "You Can't Go Home Again"
1. Setting Priorities

Title: Error in Judgment; Part 1:Setting Priorities

Author: Grace O'Malley better make it R

Characters: Adama/Roslin

Archiving: The more the merrier, but please let me know so I can provide any corrections and/or additional parts.

Disclaimers: Not my world; not my characters :sigh:

Spoilers: Set after "You can't go home again," but not really spoilers, as such.

Author's notes: I'm intending "Error" to work more as a series of stories, rather than chapters in a single story. So, each one should be complete on its own, but hopefully when I'm done they should also fit together. At this point, I'm not sure how many there will be. I have ideas/notes for 2 more, but I could get inspired or discouraged, depending on how the rest of the season goes...

_"...you're both officers and you're both honorable men and you're both perfectly aware that you are putting the lives of over 45,000 people and the future of this civilization at risk, for your personal feelings. Now, if the two of you, of all people can live with that, then the human race doesn't stand a chance. Clear your heads." --_Laura Roslin in "You can't go home again."

Adama surveyed the members of his crew milling around in the empty cargo area. It wasn't much of a crowd. It wasn't much of a celebration either, just an informal mixer to break up the cycle of fear and loss and endless work. With nothing to drink but water, and nothing to dance to but a mishmash of musical recordings lovingly hoarded and courteously donated by his crew, matters were unlikely to get out of hand. Starbuck wasn't exactly on her feet, but she was out of bed thanks to a wheelchair and a few accessibility ramps left over from _Galactica's _short career as a museum. As soon as he and Tigh had put in their brief appearance and left the scene, Starbuck would hold court and the fun could begin.

"Mending fences?" Tigh spoke for Adama's hearing only.

"What?" Adama followed Tigh's gaze to see Laura Roslin entering the room on Lee's arm.

"So you didn't invite her?"

Adama couldn't smell whiskey on his friend's breath, but the slight glaze in Tigh's eyes told him everything he needed to know. "I suppose Lee did. Lords know why. She'll just make everyone nervous."

But reality gave the lie to speculation. His crew, unsure how to behave in her presence, stopped their conversations and came to attention. One by one she put them at ease: shaking hands, smiling, offering a few words. He couldn't hear exactly what she said, but he could hear the laughter in response, as well as see the relaxation that seemed to ripple outward from her wake.

"You know, she's not bad looking when she's not busy trying to tell us what to do."

Adama didn't respond to Tigh's comment, but he took advantage of her preoccupation to look her over thoroughly. She'd gone for a bit more festive look than her usual buttoned-down suit by leaving off the jacket and twisting her hair up into some kind of knot. She looked trim and pretty, and he felt a definite pang when she looked up at him from halfway across the room and smiled.

Lee guided her over to greet them.

"Madam President."

"Commander; Colonel. I hope I'm not intruding. I just wanted to take the opportunity to thank your pilots and crew in person for all they've done for the fleet. And don't worry--I won't be staying long." She offered a dazzling smile that made Adama feel like the center of the universe, even though he knew it to be a politician's coin of the realm.

"It's never an intrusion to see you, Ma'am," Tigh said.

She blinked at him, then smiled uncertainly. "It's kind of you to say so."

Lee cleared his throat loudly. "Madam President, may I get you some water?"

"That would be lovely. Thank you, Captain."

Chief Tyrol turned up the music. An empty space opened in the center of the floor, only to remain a desolate vacuum of a few moments' duration. First one couple showed courage, then another backed them up, and before long the entire floor was moving despite the continued presence of "The Old Man" and his XO--not to mention the President of the Twelve Colonies.

Adama felt distinctly uncomfortable, but he couldn't see how to leave gracefully while the President remained. He wondered where Lee had gotten to with her water; once he returned, they could say their good evenings and escort her back to her shuttle. Tigh was attempting to speak to Laura Roslin, but Adama couldn't hear over the music.

When the song finally ended, Tigh failed to adjust the volume of his voice in time. His shout must have carried to the furthest corner of the room, "Madam President, would you care to dance?"

Adama had come to believe that nothing could ruffle her smooth surface, so he nearly laughed aloud to see her blush.

"I...thank you, but--" she started to stammer out what sounded like a refusal.

Tigh interrupted her, "Ah come on! Let's show them how it's done."

"All right," she relented. "All right. Why not?" She put her hand on Tigh's proffered arm and let him lead her out to the dance floor, but her back looked stiff and she glanced around nervously.

Whether by accident, or by deliberate intervention on the part of some observant crewmember, the next song approached the slower, romantic end of the spectrum, as opposed to the previous more energetic piece.

"That's not good." Lee had returned to stand at Adama's shoulder, looking out at the dance floor. "I hope he's not drunk."

"Lee--" Adama retorted irritably, "Colonel Tigh is my friend and your superior officer. Whatever you and Kara may think, he's no fool. He's just trying to put her at ease."

"Is he?"

Father and son stood for a moment watching Tigh awkwardly herd Roslin around the dance floor. The other dancers gave them plenty of room. She appeared to be trying to cooperate with his navigation, but when a hand slid down from her waist to rest on her bottom, she shied away and forcibly replaced it to its former position.

Lee winced. "We have to put a stop to this." He tried to hand Roslin's abandoned glass of water to Adama. "I'm going in."

"No," said Adama. "You already owe him an apology. Go talk to Starbuck. Have a good time. I'll take care of this."

A path cleared for Adama without him having to give it any thought. Tigh must not have seen him coming, for he didn't react until Adama put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm cutting in," he said though a smile in name only.

Tigh had the presence of mind to look embarrassed. He straightened up his shoulders, but stopped short of saluting, which would have drawn even more attention. "Certainly, Sir." He gave Adama a hangdog look and added, "I think it's time for me to call it a night."

Adama grunted in response.

Laura Roslin had been standing there, watching the interaction intently, with a half-smile on her face. "Good night, Colonel Tigh. Thank you for the dance."

"Thank _you_, Madam President. The pleasure was all mine." Tigh managed a graceful half-bow, turned and walked away.

"Would you agree, President Roslin, that we shouldn't waste the music?" The invitation came out far more arrogant than he had intended, and Adama mentally kicked himself.

"I think, if we're going to dance..." She inclined her head in his direction and smiled. "You should call me Laura."

"Laura," he echoed, and relaxed into a genuine smile. "William." He held out his hand and she took it.

She stepped closer and put her other hand on his shoulder while he laid his free hand against her back. They began to sway, then step in time to the music. Another slow song; the crew was humoring him, and after this song he'd really have to leave before their fun evening was totally spoiled.

He was amazed at how delicate Laura felt in his arms. As if she might break if he failed to take care. This strong and confident woman who'd faced him down and reversed his thinking on more than one occasion. Now he was close enough to feel her warmth and sense her pulse. With his face near hers, he caught the subtle scent of her perfume. He had no idea what it was. Some fragrant blossom from Caprica, perhaps, probably extinct forever thanks to Cylon nukes. But now it would be forever melded in his mind with the closeness of her body.

The dancing, however, wasn't going quite so well. Lost in his reverie, he hardly noticed that he kept stepping on her toes, moving back, and then pulling her in closer again.

"Commander--I mean, William." She gave him a kind, indulgent smile. "You don't really want to dance, do you?"

"I have an idea," he said. He held out his hand, but she took his elbow.

He led her briskly out of the party and straight past the turn into the corridor leading to the bay where her shuttle waited.

"Where are we going?" she asked, looking slightly alarmed.

"I want to show you something that I think will interest you."

"Okay, but please slow down a little. These shoes are comfortable enough as far as heels go, but they're not made for race walking." A smile deepened the laugh lines around her eyes, and her skin glowed with a slight flush of exertion.

"Sorry," he said, and slowed his pace to an unnatural stroll. "I'm used to needing to get from one place to another as quickly as possible."

"I understand. But tonight--at least for now--we've no need to hurry. Actually, now that we're alone, there's something I'd like to ask you about."

He felt, rather than saw, her manner shift from informal to professional.

"Yes?"

"I can't think how to put this delicately, so I'll be blunt. How big of a problem is Colonel Tigh's drinking?"

He didn't know what he'd been expecting, but it wasn't that. "You don't miss much, do you?"

"I try." She didn't smile.

"I've known him for more than forty years, and it's never interfered with his ability to do his duty."

"I see."

"I'm not sorry for what I did."

She looked at him, uncomprehending.

"Searching for Starbuck."

She nodded.

"I do regret how much it cost though. I just thought we should clear the air on that."

"William--" She stopped in her tracks. "It's done, and I have no wish to dwell on what can't be changed. Besides, don't think for one instant that I'm not thrilled to have her back. I know how valuable your pilots are, and I gather Starbuck is your only qualified flight instructor, which makes her all the more critical to all of us. But I do want you to think about something." She laid a hand on his arm, and he could feel her warmth right through the stiff fabric of his sleeve.

"Do you fully understand," she continued, "just how lucky you are?"

"Lucky?"

"Yes, lucky. _Galactica_ is your home. You have a crew who already knows and respects you, a job that you already know how to do, and most of all...you have the two people you love most with you--where you can see and touch them every day. Have you thought about what it's like for most of the survivors? There are a few intact families in the fleet, but most people were traveling for business or to visit someone... And they are alone. Surrounded by strangers. Living in unfamiliar, cramped and uncomfortable conditions, wondering how long before the water, food, and fuel run out. And if the Cylons attack? These people lack even the small comfort of being in a position to fight back."

"I take your point."

"Good." Then just as suddenly as it had fallen, the dark curtain between president and commander lifted. "Now, what is it you wanted to show me? Please lead on."

Adama had never been much of one for small talk, but he felt constrained to try. "How are your allergies?"

"Allergies?" She gave him a confused look.

"You wanted to see _Galactica's_ doctor..."

"Ah, yes of course. Thank you for asking. He's been most kind."

"Kind? Doesn't sound like the Cottle I know..."

"Very well then. He's gruff and rude--but he seems to know his job." She looked up at him with an arch grin before adding, "Did you choose him yourself?"

He chose to grunt, rather than rise to her gibe.

They were in an area of the ship that, except for security patrols, wasn't much used by _Galactica_'s skeletal complement. She glanced around nervously, as if wondering how they'd suddenly found themselves so isolated.

"Where are you taking me, anyway? Are you planning to lose me somewhere in the bowels of your ship, so you won't have me bothering you anymore?"

"Of course not. We're here," he said, suddenly wondering if his idea had been so good after all. He opened the hatch and waited for her to precede him. Emergency lighting barely illuminated large objects scattered within the cavernous space.

"Okay, we're in a big, dark room." She looked around the vast emptiness and shivered, then hugged herself in an attempt to rub away the goose bumps.

"Wait a moment." He sought and found the switch activating floor strips that outlined walkways in dots of light. "You've probably been here, you know--when you toured the ship...before... This is the starboard flight pod." He stepped closer to her and put an arm around her shoulder to lend her a little of his warmth.

She didn't evade the contact, but seemed to welcome the spirit in which it was offered.

He gestured with his free hand to point things out to her. "This was to be the main exhibit area of the _Galactica_ museum. The gift shop was just over there. We're in the process of returning the pod to active status, but I wanted a few of the exhibits left on display. That's what I brought you here to see."

"By all means, lead on." She tilted her face up and to one side, offering him an amused smile.

They strolled toward a large, upright, rectangular object covered with a drop cloth. He flipped on a spotlight and pulled off the cover.

She gasped and stepped back away from his encircling arm before reason caught up to instinctive panic. "A Cylon Centurion." Saying the words out loud seemed to relax her, and she stepped forward to scrutinize it more closely. "This one must have been dead for forty years. I was just a young girl during the last war, but I still remember the nightmares--and the stupid, pointless drills we had to do at school."

"Did you ever see one of these when it was active?" he asked her.

"No. Of course not," she said, then turned to him with one of her soul-searching looks that he could neither deflect nor hide from. "But _you_ did, didn't you?"

"Yes, I saw a few in my day." His voice cracked a little with the burden of memory.

"I know," she said. "I didn't have to see them because I had you, and others like you, to face them for me." She reached out and took his hand. "Thank you."

He stepped in front of her to hold both her hands, and worked up the courage to look into her eyes. "I wanted you to see it, so you'd know you can believe me when I tell you that we beat them before and we can beat them again. Humanity will survive. We will come back stronger and wiser than before."

With her lips compressed into a line, she slowly nodded acquiescence. "Please keep telling me that. When you say it, I can believe it."

If he'd stopped to think about it, he never would have done it. It wasn't that he hadn't thought of her as physically attractive--she was, and he did. And while not in the least flirtatious, a core of womanliness shone through even during her most adversarial moments. He had sensed...something...from their first contentious meeting, even if acting on that something had always seemed out of the question.

And so it was pure instinct that led him to put his hands around her face and lift it to his own for a kiss.

If he'd thought about the reaction he might have expected, it would most probably have been withering, to say the least. So he didn't think, and there was no rebuke. As it happened, they skipped right over playful to land squarely in passionate. His fingers in her hair, the pins scattering. Her eyes wide and filled with consent, then closed in concentration. Her hands snaking up his back to press him closer. Her perfume mingling with the heat rising off her skin.

He felt her breathing roughen and her breasts rise against his chest. When her knees gave way a little, he was ready to help support her weight. As tightly as they held each other, she had to be aware of his own state of arousal. Her breath caught and held when he cupped a hand over her breast, and he felt the nipple harden through the fabric of her blouse. He kissed his way down her throat, and back up to her ear, where he whispered, "Come to my quarters."

She said nothing for a moment, but closed her eyes tightly and pressed her hand to the side of his face. The spell was broken.

He took her face in both his hands and willed her to open her eyes. "What's wrong?"

"You've no idea," she said, seeming to struggle for breath to speak. "How easy it would be to just fall into your arms and think of nothing else."

"But?" he tried to smile despite the ache consuming his entire body from heart to testicles.

"But..." She laid a hand on his chest, gently keeping him at a distance. "Someone has to..._I_ have to...keep my priorities on our pitiful band of refugees. I don't dare allow personal feelings to...confuse...me."

He turned his face away. "I'm sorry. I should never have assumed--"

"No!" she interrupted him. "I'm the one who's sorry. I should never have let things get to..." She gestured helplessly. "Please forgive me." She turned her back to him and started to walk away.

"Laura, wait."

"It's okay." She waved him off without looking. "I'll find my own way."

"No, look." He took her shoulders and gently turned her toward the display case so she could see her reflection in the polished surface.

She took his point immediately. "Oh, Lords, look at me!" She laughed. "Thank you for thinking."

He helped her with her hair, and wiped away some smudges of makeup. She tucked her blouse back into her skirt, and checked him over thoroughly for smears of lipstick. Finally, with a wry nod of satisfaction, she said, "I think we'll do."

"I think we'll have to," he said. "We're all they've got.

The End


	2. Tighed One On

Title: Error in Judgment; Part 2: Tighed One On

Author: Grace O'Malley PG-13

Characters: Adama/Roslin; Tigh/Ellen

Archiving: The more the merrier, but please let me know so I can provide any corrections and/or additional parts.

Disclaimers: Not my world; not my characters :sigh:

Spoilers: Set after "Tigh me up, Tigh me down"

Author's notes: Like the episode, this is more light-hearted and less angsty than Part 1.

_"Ladies and gentlemen, please, please. We're in a laboratory. There are hazardous chemical compounds everywhere. That-- that's a thermo-nuclear bomb, for frak's sake!"_ -- Gaius Baltar in "Tigh me up, Tigh me down."

"That's insane, Ellen. Totally apart from the fact she thought he was a Cylon, they don't even _like_ each other!" Saul Tigh rolled onto his back and stretched. His bed wasn't actually meant for two, but they had managed admirably. He felt relaxed and contented--even if slightly hung-over.

Ellen propped herself up on one elbow and smiled down at him. Mischievous eyes peeked out from behind a lace curtain of blonde hair. "I'm serious. A woman senses these things, you know. There is definitely something going on between those two."

Saul closed his eyes. The sound of her voice constantly mouthing gossip was not his favorite aspect of their reconciliation.

"Of course you wouldn't notice how she watched him over dinner, like a spider who fears a juicy fly might escape her web. And no wonder she was jealous, considering the way he was looking at me--"

Saul opened his eyes and gave her a frosty look. No way was he having _this_ conversation again.

"Oh, I don't think he meant anything by it, you silly." She socked his arm, then rubbed the spot where she'd hit him. "Just, you know, it's not as if he's got much to look at around here. I'm sure she thought she had a clear field, but then someone prettier, more vibrant, and...younger...comes along. You can't blame the man for a few glances."

"If you say so," he caved in tiredly. This was not how he'd hoped to spend what was left of the morning before he had to report for duty.

"I do say so. And then--once you stood up for me and made it clear he'd better get any improper thoughts of your wife out of his head... Well, then he started paying attention to her again. She was positively panting for him. I'm sure that once we left they got back to whatever boring positions Miss Prissy Schoolmarm allows."

"Ellen," Saul said, more tired and exasperated than shocked or angry at his wife's crude imagination. "Shut up!" He reached over and pulled her down on top of him; her mouth tasted of ambrosia.

It was evening before Saul found the opportunity to catch Adama on his own. Since that morning, when he'd been certain Ellen was spouting nonsense, he'd come around to thinking she might be right after all.

Earlier in the day he'd been approaching _Galactica_'s large conference room, when he realized the Commander and the President were already there, and in the midst of an intense discussion. When he heard the word "Ellen," he hesitated before entering.

"What I'd like to know is where she got her mitts on all that ambrosia. How much can be left in the entire fleet? She was swilling it with more abandon than the rest of us drink water."

That was Roslin's voice, and Saul had to admit he'd wondered the same thing.

Adama answered "I don't believe she was unconscious all those weeks on the _Rising Star_."

With a sinking feeling in his gut, Saul had already come to the same conclusion.

"Oh terrific," Roslin replied. "So, her patron either got fed up and bribed her to go away, _or_ found out her husband was an officer on _Galactica_ and bribed her to come here and send back inside information."

Saul had felt a bit sick, but not entirely surprised. Whether or not Ellen had ulterior motives, and he expected she probably--as always--did, he would never share any classified information. Just like he would never quite be able to break with her completely. Adama knew that--had to know that.

"As much as he loves her, he would never, ever, relay any classified information--to anyone. Drunk or sober. I'd stake my life on it."

Saul pressed his eyes closed and said a silent "thank you" for his friend's steadfast confidence.

Roslin sighed, but did not try to contradict Adama. "Here we thought all we had to worry about were Cylons, shortages, and Tom Zarek. _Rising Star_ is filled with people of wealth and power who expect to wield influence--and it seems they think we should be arriving at Earth any day now..."

Saul could hear Adama speaking, but could not make out the words. They'd dropped their voices, and it sounded as if they'd also moved further away from the door. He stepped into the doorway and just watched them for a moment. They stood close together, not touching, not even smiling. They appeared to be talking about something of mutual importance, and were totally absorbed in one another's words. Not flirtatious, but deeply intimate. Neither of them had shown awareness of Saul's presence. --And they had been standing way too close together.

He cleared his throat loudly, and stepped into the doorway. He and Adama nodded at each other.

"Good morning, Colonel Tigh," Roslin had said with her best politician smile. "How's Ellen settling in?"

"Very well, thank you, Madam President."

"Good, good," she repeated while maintaining her phony smile. Then the smile dropped and she added with what he believed to be genuine sincerity, "It's good to see a family reunited. I wish you every happiness."

"Thank you, again, Madam President," he said. Then he had improvised, "Also...my wife wishes me to offer her apologies for that crack she made about Kindergarten teachers. It was meant to be a joke, but she regrets the way it came across."

Roslin waved it away with her hand. "Tell her not to worry. Obviously, she's never found herself in sole charge of a roomful of unruly five-year olds. Truly, there is no better training for what one has to contend with in politics."

Adama had looked amused, slightly embarrassed, and proud of her--all at the same time. Truth was, not so long ago Adama had made the same assessment of Roslin's capabilities, based on the same prejudgment of her background. Now he was respectful, as well as solicitous of her feelings.

On the one hand, if Adama and Roslin were lovers, it was none of Saul's business. On the other hand, Bill Adama was his oldest friend, and he wanted to return the favor of recognizing that a human being needed and deserved a personal life. Even if it _was_ awkward. Maybe especially because it was awkward.

Saul finally caught up with Adama in his quarters, behind his desk, catching up on paperwork.

Adama looked up long enough to grunt and wave Saul to take a seat. "I'm almost done."

He sat down on the sofa, and helped himself to a bowl of noodles that sat, half-eaten, on the coffee table in front of him. Getting away with stealing his friend's food emboldened him. "Tell me honestly, Bill, are you sleeping with her?"

Adama looked shocked and angry at the question, and focused his attention on gathering up his papers. He spoke to Saul without looking at him. "I thought we got straight on that last night, Saul. Quite honestly, Ellen wouldn't appeal to me even if she weren't your wife. That's my final word on the matter--do not bring it up again."

"No, no! I'm not talking about Ellen."

Without raising his head, Adama glanced up from under lowered brows.

"Ellen thinks you're having an affair with President Roslin. I thought the idea was ridiculous, of course, but she did get me wondering..."

Adama looked down again, his skin darkening. "Wonder no more. The answer is no."

Saul's mouth fell open with a sudden realization. He closed it again, then voiced his surmise. "I think what you really mean is: 'Not yet.'"

"Colonel Tigh, you are speaking inappropriately about the President of the Twelve Colonies." Adama still did not look up, but he stopped sorting papers and rested his fists on the desk.

Throwing the last shreds of military protocol to the wind, Saul laughed out loud. "Oh my Lords. She shot you down, didn't she? And then she suspected you of being a Cylon. Ouch! That must have hurt."

"We are _not_ having this conversation."

"Of course we're not. And I'm _not_ telling you that for all her failings, Ellen's instincts about other women are generally on target. I won't put it like she did, but you should try again."

"You're dismissed."

Both men stood and came to attention, and Saul was relieved to see the anger in his friend's eyes had been replaced by wistfulness. He saluted his Commander, waited for the acknowledging salute, and left Adama to his own private thoughts.

The End


	3. Taking Chances

Title: Error in Judgment; Part 3: Taking Chances

Author: Grace O'Malley NC-17

Word count: 4,513

Characters: Adama/Roslin

Archiving: The more the merrier, but please let me know so I can provide any corrections and/or additional parts.

Disclaimers: Not my world; not my characters :sigh:

Spoilers: Set directly after "Hand of God"

_"Sometimes you have to roll the hard __six__."_ -- Commander William Adama in "Hand of God."

The door was open and she stood there for a moment, just watching him.

He'd loosened his uniform jacket, and sat slurping noodles while reading one of the printouts scattered across his coffee table.

She knocked softly on the open door. When he looked up, she said, "May I come in?"

"Laura, of course. Please...have a seat." Hurriedly putting his bowl down, he stood and swept a spot of the leather sofa clear of papers and books. "I thought you'd gone back to _Colonial One_." He returned to his own seat opposite her.

"I couldn't bring myself to drag Billy away from that lovely Petty Officer Dualla. They deserve some time; it's been quite a day."

"Oh," he said. "Are you hungry? I could make some more of these..." He gestured toward the noodles.

"No, no thank you. I'm fine, really--not hungry at all." She was never hungry these days and the noodles looked far too much like snakes.

"I was just hoping for some company..." She bit her lip. He was so obviously uncomfortable in her presence. She should never have come, and now he was stuck with her.

"Ah. I thought you were angry." He kept a completely bland expression on his face.

She gave him a long, penetrating look. Of course she couldn't read his mind, but she tried to put herself in his head, to imagine his view of the situation. "I expect you to do your job; I don't pretend to understand the intricacies. I assumed you were truthful about your reasons for not telling me the details. Because if you weren't, that _would_ piss me off."

A small half-smile crossed his lips.

"Even I could see there was no unrisky solution to our problem--"

He interrupted her, "--which would have been less acute if I hadn't used our reserves searching for--"

She interrupted him right back, "Even if delayed a bit, the problem would have been exactly the same--only we might not have had Lieutenant Thrace to plan that rather brilliant operation. The sad truth is, neither you nor I can afford to trust _anyone_ too much. The Cylons haven't left us that luxury."

They met each other's eyes for a long moment. Cool, appraising. She learned nothing, and could only guess what he might have gleaned from her expression.

He broke the stalemate with a smile. "Would you like a drink?"

"That would be nice, thank you," she said crisply.

Expecting water, she was surprised when he went to a side table and pulled out a bottle of ambrosia and two stemmed glasses.

"Ambrosia?" She laughed. "Where did you get that?"

"Ellen Tigh was stupid enough to carry it into my CIC--in plain view. I confiscated it."

Laura laughed again; the release of tension was a welcomed tonic. "Good for you. I'll enjoy it all the more."

"How's the celebration going?"

"They were just getting warmed up when I made my exit. I stayed long enough to congratulate Captain Apollo, and then I thought it was high time to leave the kids to their fun."

"Same reason I cleared out." He chuckled. "We're not welcome anywhere, are we?" He poured out two glasses of the green liquor, handed one to her, and lifted his own in a toast.

"To Lee Adama," she said. "Who has saved humanity, once again." She raised her glass and took a careful sip. After her recent experiences, she feared alcohol might mix poorly with chamalla, and she did not want to be hallucinating in William Adama's quarters.

"To Lee," he echoed, then drank deeply. "I only wish I could be the father he deserves." He looked away, pressing his lips together.

Laura looked at him, unsure of what he meant or how to respond.

"Every time I try to encourage him, it somehow ends up patronizing--or worse. He's convinced I prefer Kara. That I respect her more...love her more."

Since he seemed to want to talk, she thought she should encourage him. "But the truth is?"

"The truth is she's easier to talk to. I can see her talents and faults more objectively. We've had our...rough spots...but when they're over, they're over. With Lee...I never seem able to say the right thing at the right time."

She leaned back against the soft leather, and considered her words with care. "I've seen the two of you together, the bond is obvious."

"I was a crap father and a worse husband." He took another pull of his drink, then set the glass down and looked at her.

Laura wondered if he was expecting her to contradict him.

When she said nothing, he continued, "I was never home, and even when I was...I wasn't."

She took a sip of her drink, and concentrated on the trail of fire it left behind as the viscous liquid slid down her throat into her stomach.

"I've no idea why Caroline put up with me as long as she did. I thought being faithful and a good provider were enough. Otherwise, I left them to organize themselves, and expected them all to be there for me when I had a few days leave. The boys loved a picture on the wall and a fantasy that went with it. They both followed me into the service because they never had a chance to see any other kind of life."

He knocked back the rest of his drink. His voice was matter of fact, as if he were reciting a cargo manifest. "When Zack was killed, the whole house of cards fell apart. Lee blamed me for bullying Zack into signing up for flight school. The things he said...what I said back... I lost two sons when Zack died, as well as my wife. Caroline couldn't stand the constant..." Unable to find the words, he shook his head and toyed with the empty glass in his hands. "She asked me to remove the few things I kept in our house, then divorced me. Through it all, I couldn't feel anything."

Laura wondered if he was even aware he still wore his wedding ring, but it was not a question she was about to ask.

"The only light was meeting Kara--she'd been Zack's fiancée. She was talented and brash, and a living, breathing connection to my son. And she didn't hate me." He set his glass down on the table, leaned back, and looked at Laura with an expression that seemed downright vulnerable. "As usual, I've been totally self-absorbed, and I realize I've never even asked you about your family, your life before..."

"Not much to tell, really." She gave a little laugh and looked away from him. "I barely remember my father. My mother died a few years ago. She'd been ill...for a long time. I taught. I wanted to do something to improve the quality of education in Colonial schools, so I brushed aside my misgivings and got involved in local politics. That's when I met President Adar--or Mayor Adar, as he was at the time. Things just kind of snowballed from there."

Adama had taken his glasses off. His forehead was creased with concern. He asked softly, "What about your husband? Children?"

"No. No one." Determined to appear confident and comfortable, she slipped her shoes off and tucked her feet up on the sofa. She smoothed her skirt down over her thighs.

He smiled at her.

_Wonderful_, she thought, certain he saw her as some desperate spinster, ready to melt for any man who'd bother to give her a second glance.

"It's not like I was priest, you know," she snapped. "It just happened that every time the possibility of marriage arose...it was never the right time." Something about honesty relaxed her, so she tried it again. "Thinking back, I suppose all those reasons were just excuses, because I didn't actually want to settle down."

"Did you know I was jealous?"

She looked at him, uncomprehending.

"Of your...ease...with Lee. The way he looks at you with uncomplicated respect. The way you look back. It was something like that with his mother, but their connection was unconditional. The two of you seem to have thoroughly measured each other, and found nothing that didn't pass the test. It's as if you'd been in combat together."

"I guess, in a sense, we were 'in combat' together. On...that day...your son was an island of rock in a sea of insanity. There was no one else with me who had any real understanding of what the Cylons are capable of." She looked at Apollo's father through narrowed eyes. "It must be difficult for him here on _Galactica_, living on your ship, in your shadow. In Starbuck's shadow."

"He never told me what happened on the day of the attack. I only know he was with you, until the fleet joined us at Ragnar."

"So you want me to tell you about it." She reached for her glass and took a long swallow of her drink. Hallucinations be damned. "Okay." She nodded. "Okay. I think it's something you need to hear."

"Can I top up your drink?" Adama asked.

She nodded, and took another swallow before handing her glass to him. "Well, as you know, after the ceremony, Lee was assigned to escort my transport back to Caprica. We were maybe halfway there when we heard about the attack. Sketchy details were filtering in, but at that point, I don't think any of us comprehended the scale... Anyway, he decoyed a Cylon missile away from us and his viper was damaged in the process. We had some difficulty locating him, but in the end we were able to pick him up."

We started searching for survivors--to get as many civilians as we could out of immediate danger. And that's when I learned that President Adar and forty-one of my other closest friends and colleagues were all dead. Not to mention a few billion other people." She paused to take a sip of her ambrosia.

Adama's face was impassive but his eyes were sympathetic.

She took another quick sip of the drink. "I'm sure you know what that felt like."

He nodded.

"We were in the midst of transferring over passengers from a disabled liner when the Cylons found us again. I had you insulting me over the wireless." She kept her voice level, but her jaw clenched at the memory.

Adama winced.

"And Lee telling me that we had to jump. But I had been their president for all of five minutes, and I could not abandon them." She paused for a little more ambrosia.

"I was wrong, of course, but fortunately Lee was there to give me another chance at the learning curve. I don't know exactly what he did, but he rigged some piece of cast-off equipment to give out an energy burst that looked like an exploding nuke. It fooled the Cylons into thinking they'd destroyed us. That was the second time he saved my ass that day."

"Laura--" He shifted in his chair.

"Oh, don't stop me now. I'm just getting to the good part. Things started to go a little better after that. We picked up Lieutenant Valerii, and were able to use her raptor to locate and collect survivors. Many of the ships didn't have FTL, so our plan was to transfer their passengers to ships that did, top up everyone's fuel, and get the hell out of there."

Then a Cylon scout ship found us. None of us wanted to desert the sub-light ships, but only Lee had the courage to speak the truth out loud: it was either leave them behind or sacrifice everyone. So I gave the order to leave thousands of people to their doom." She picked up her glass of ambrosia and swirled it, staring at the green stain that washed up the sides, then flowed back down again. "Men, women, children..." Tears formed in her eyes, and she struggled not to cry.

"I sat in my first-class seat, waiting for the jump, listening to those I'd condemned to die as they screamed, and begged, and cursed us--cursed me." Her voice cracked, and tears spilled down her face. She was furious with herself for breaking down in front of him, but she was determined to finish her story. "I can still hear those voices... I expect they will follow me to hell--just like they promised."

She looked directly at Adama, defiant about her puffy face and ruined make-up. "I guess when you go through an experience like that with someone, you just bond, and it doesn't have to make sense to anyone else."

He got up without speaking and returned with a tissue.

"Thank you," she said, and began dabbing at her eyes.

He shifted more papers and books, making a space to sit beside her. "We're a pathetic pair of losers, aren't we?" he said gently. "No wonder nobody wants us at their parties."

She smiled, and gave a little laugh that turned into a hiccough.

They sat close enough so his thigh touched hers, not pressing, just touching. They sat in silence for a long moment, both looking straight ahead, lost in their own thoughts. When he offered the solace of an arm around her shoulders, she welcomed it, even rested her head against him.

His proximity disturbed her. Made her long for more. It was, whatever she tried to pretend, exactly what she had come for. Warmth rising off another human being's skin. The scents of soap, cigar smoke, wool, ambrosia, and soy sauce. Her nostrils flared to draw deeply of the comforting masculinity. Nonetheless, when she felt him nuzzle into her ear, she flinched away. The reaction was involuntary, like a snail retracting into its shell. When ordered thought caught up to reflex, she knew it wasn't his carnal instincts that worried her, but her own.

By that time, the damage was done, and he had already jumped up, grabbed the wine glasses and bottle, and returned them to the side table.

"Bill, I--" She stood, poised to flee.

He kept his back to her, and busied himself filling a wineglass from a carafe of water. The ring of crystal against crystal, as he bumped the lip of his glass with the neck of the carafe, betrayed his unease. He didn't turn around, or even incline his head in her direction. "If you're leaving...please go now."

Her heart pounded wildly in her chest, and she took a series of deep, cleansing breaths to try to bring it under control. Giving her body to William Adama would be the stupidest decision she could possibly make. He might have half her heart already, but the rule of her head told her she shouldn't trust him blindly. Everything was deeply personal to him, and that was a problem. If she gave in to the tightness in her chest, the weakness in her knees, and the moisture between her legs, their inevitable political disagreements would become betrayal.

She stared at his back; he still had not turned around, but gripped the small table with a hand on either side, resting his weight against braced arms. Waiting. He was in no way handsome. Not very tall, bad skin, bad teeth, a tad overweight--even if obviously muscular and physically fit. But something oozed out of his pores and surrounded him like an aura of pure, primal maleness. Laura had been certain she was long past recognizing, much less responding to something so basic and so visceral. Menopause, cancer. She'd thought she was an empty shell of a woman, surviving only to fulfill her responsibilities to those who depended on her. The destruction of civilization, and the probably futile efforts to save the remnants of humanity...surely these things took precedent over the pitiful fire between two people who couldn't even benefit society by reproducing.

Unable to move, she wasn't sure how she managed to speak. "How do you lock that door?"

He pushed away from where he'd rested against the table, and turned his profile to her. He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them and took a deep breath. Still, he did not look directly at her. "I'll take care of it."

She noticed that his knuckles went white as he gripped the circular handle that would seal them in. Finally, he turned to face her.

"You'll have to come to me, I think." She felt herself blushing, and blushed all the more for being aware he must have seen her discomfort. "I can't seem to--"

Before she could finish her sentence, he was right in front of her, hands at his sides. Not touching, but so close she could feel his warmth. He studied her with his eyes, as if trying to decide where to start. Only she knew it didn't matter--that right now any place on her skin was as aroused as any other. She took his hands, then let them go.

He laced his fingers through her hair and tilted her face up to kiss. He tasted of salt, and sweet, and very slightly of cigars. Little moans and gasps escaped her throat, as if someone else had uttered them. She wrapped her arms around him, under his open jacket, and ran her hands up his back, delighting in the solid feel of hard muscle. Her back arched in a shameless urge to be closer still. He broke away from her mouth to take in air, and made her look him in the eye. He must have seen her terror then, for he pulled her closer to whisper in her ear, "Don't talk. Don't think. Just...be."

His hands were shaking as he eased her jacket off her shoulders, and let it fall. She tugged at one of his sleeves, and his jacket fell away also, leaving her free to explore his bare arms and shoulders. Her blouse came untucked from the waistband of her skirt, and she felt his calloused palms against the bare skin of her back. He circled her waist with his hands, and stroked them upwards so his fingers rested on her back, while his thumbs brushed her nipples through the fabric of her bra. Teasing, circling. She gasped, and shrank back a little, resting her forehead against his shoulder. Her clothes were an irritant she wanted to be rid of, to leave nothing but flesh against tender flesh. To distract herself, she yanked at his uniform undershirts. He had to stop touching her long enough for the soft-cotton tanks to be pulled over his head. She planted kisses on his chest.

He took her face in his hands and kissed her mouth, then laid his cheek next to hers. "Laura, show me your breasts."

She didn't pull away, but she quailed inside. Longing and horror in equal parts sent adrenaline coursing through her veins. He had no idea that her breasts were filled with death, black and rotting from the inside. Just another empty piece of a shell of a body she was already distancing herself from. Yet for now they were alive and sensitive, and a source of erotic pleasure both to herself and her partner...her lover.

Unable to look at him while she undid the buttons on her blouse, she felt her skin flush hot under his gaze. She shrugged one shoulder out of its sleeve, and let him brush the other sleeve off her shoulder and down her arm. The blouse fell to the floor. When she'd packed for her brief trip to open the _Galactica_ museum, it had never occurred to her to bring "date lingerie"--she'd been far more concerned about comfort during long flights and endless standing around through boring speeches. Now she regretted it. She wanted to feel beautiful, not practical. But he didn't seem to care.

He stroked her neck, and studied her, and...waited. Still having trouble meeting his eyes, she reached around behind herself and undid the hooks of her bra, then leaned forward a little to let it fall away. She heard his breath quicken, and the thought of him seeing her naked to the waist was enough harden her nipples and bring on another flush of embarrassment. When he enclosed a breast in one hand, the sensation was almost more than she could bear.

"You are so beautiful."

"I don't think I can stand--"

"Don't worry, I've got you."

Her knees started to buckle, but true to his word he supported her with an arm around her waist. Only half aware of events outside her own body, she wasn't exactly sure how she found herself on her back with her skirt unzipped and halfway down her hips. Books and papers hit the floor with muted thuds and rustling.

"Lift your hips a little."

He hovered over her and planted a kiss low on her stomach before sliding off her skirt and panties. She came to her senses long enough to realize that she was now completely naked, while he still wore half his clothes.

"This isn't really fair," she said in a hoarse whisper, and reached out for the waistband of his trousers.

He shifted back out of her reach, and smiled out her. "We'll get there, don't worry. But I'm not finished with you yet."

She looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension.

As if to offer a compromise, he took of his shoes. Then he knelt beside her and looked her over thoroughly. He kissed her mouth, then traced a finger down her breastbone, past her navel and her belly, and gently parted her legs. He shifted down a little, to bring his mouth to a breast, and allow his fingers to work more deeply inside her.

Part of her was dimly aware that the situation was completely unbalanced. He was keeping her on a knife-edge, while still evading her attempts to touch him more intimately. She realized his intent was to stay in complete control while watching her surrender to his touch. It was maddening, and only served to excite her further. Wanting to be closer and more open, she curled up and rolled partially onto her side towards him. Reduced to a feral state, she didn't know or care exactly what he was doing with his hands and mouth--so long as it didn't stop.

Except that he did stop, leaving her irritated and panting for breath. She opened her eyes to find him grinning at her.

"Get those off--now," she growled at him, pointing in the general direction of his pants.

"Is that an order?" he teased.

"It's not a request," she shot back. "And I'm afraid you're on your own; I'm in no condition to help." She closed her eyes and tried to bring her breathing and pulse under control.

She felt his weight on top of her, and reached down, still wanting to touch him, to guide him where she wanted him to be. Still he refused, grabbing her wrists and pinning her arms over her head. He went back to mouthing her breasts, and at last she could feel his bare skin along the whole length of her body. The metal of his dog tag a tiny bit of coolness surrounded by heat. Her fingers curled and stretched against the restraint, but he had to turn her loose in order to slide further down and put his mouth to her vulva. She felt his tongue, then his teeth, tease her clitoris, while his hands reached up for her breasts. Little cries escaped against her will, and she kneaded a cushion to keep from screaming when orgasm gripped her.

And still he did not stop. She felt drained and passive as he rolled her over, stroking her back and bottom, kissing her neck and ears. Cool leather caressed her breasts and belly. He knelt between her legs, sliding forward to cover her, resting most of his weight on one forearm. She felt his erect penis brush against the inside of her thigh, and her own excitement rose again as she held her breath in anticipation. When he finally entered her she gasped, and nearly came again right then, simply from the realization of who was inside her. At last.

She turned her face to the side, her hair tangled over her eyes, and fought for breath to speak. "Don't move." She tilted her pelvis and made tiny movements with her hips, searching for deeper penetration. He obeyed her command and followed her leisurely rhythm. She experimented, unashamedly selfish, as she rocked and twisted, and clenched and relaxed her muscles to see just how high she could climb and how long she could remain at the verge.

His breathing changed, and she smiled to herself at the proof he, too, had limits. He abandoned her restrained tempo and sought his own, moving quicker and harder. Far from begrudging him, she pushed against him, arching her back and spreading her legs even wider. He clung to her, his cheek next to hers, his breath hot and ragged against her ear, one arm wrapped tight around her torso with his hand holding her breast, the other stretched above their heads, his hand gripping hers. She strained against him in counterpoint, holding onto each stroke with the muscles of her pelvic floor, until his pace became too frenetic for her to follow. Then she stayed still and open, letting him do whatever he needed. His gasp of indrawn breath, final push to release, and the pulsing contractions of his ejaculation set her spiraling to her own orgasm, until they both collapsed in exhaustion.

She awoke from a blissfully dreamless sleep, pinned against the wall in his too-small-to-share bunk. A single, soft lamp illuminated the wreck of his room: books, papers, and clothes strewn everywhere. Adama lay on his back, snoring gently beside her, the sheet twisted around his legs, leaving him largely exposed to her gaze. He looked comfortable, at least. Her back was killing her, she had bruises she didn't recall receiving, and she doubted sitting down would be comfortable any time soon. These things made her smile.

They hadn't spoken of love. Thank the gods. Best to leave it laying there, unspoken between them, like too many other unshared secrets. She listened to his breathing and tried not to worry about how she was going to sneak back to her shuttle, what she would say to Billy about where she had been, or how and when she would tell this amazing man that she would have to leave him--far sooner and more cruelly than she cared to contemplate.

For now, she would study his sleeping form and consider how best to repay what he had done to her. For this moment, she had chosen life. Whatever price she would eventually have to pay for the privilege would be more than worth it.

The End


	4. Still Standing

Title: Error in Judgment; Part 4: Still Standing

Author: Grace O'Malley PG-13

Word count: 2,194

Characters: K, R

Archiving: The more the merrier, but please let me know so I can provide any corrections and/or additional parts.

Disclaimers: Not my world; not my characters :sigh:

Spoilers: "Colonial Day" and "KLG1"

_"You know, all of those years, I watched you. Working with Adar, you were always so quiet, so polite. So dignified. I never thought you'd fit in with the bare knuckle, backstabbing politicians. I guess I was wrong."_ -- Wallace Gray in "Colonial Day."

_Frak, frak, frak_, was all Kara could think as she sprinted into the nearest stall without looking left or right. Her last-minute timing was impeccable, as always, and she managed to aim her stream of vomit into the toilet bowl.

When she finally finished heaving, she strode to the sink and started rinsing out her mouth, still not daring to check if she were alone. _At least_, she thought with more than a little self-loathing, _it's gotten rid of the taste of Baltar's_--

"Lieutenant Thrace, are you all right?"

_Frak,_ Kara thought. _How much more humiliating can this night get?_ She turned off the running water and braced her hands against the sides of the sink. "Madam President... Oh Gods, I'm sorry."

Roslin looked at her with concern. "Oh, no, don't say that. You've nothing to apologize for. Are you feeling better now? A little too much celebrating?" She smiled indulgently at Kara, then creased her forehead before adding, "Or should I send for a medic?"

"The former. Gods." Kara felt herself flush and waved a hand aimlessly in front of her face. "I'm fine. I just need to clean up."

"Here, let me give you a hand." Roslin wetted a couple of towels, and came closer to scrutinize Kara closely. She held up a towel and caught Kara's eye by way of asking permission to touch her face.

Kara nodded, not thrilled, but even more not wanting to face her fellow pilots--to face Lee--until she looked a bit less like she'd been rolling in a gutter.

When Roslin came closer, Kara could smell the freshness of clean skin, a light touch of some subtle perfume, and a scent in her hair that Kara recognized but couldn't quite place. Laura Roslin was the sort of woman, Kara reflected sourly, who never sweated or farted, and who absolutely never got stinking drunk, frakked the totally wrong guy, and puked her guts out in public toilets. Only then did it occur to her to wonder what the President was doing, all alone in the middle of the night, in one of _Galactica's_ communal heads.

"Uh, Madam President, I didn't know you were on board. Where's your security?"

As Roslin continued to dab at Kara's face, Kara had the chance to look back just as hard at the older woman. She looked tired, which was no surprise, and her cheeks were a bit flushed--as if she'd been for a run. But Roslin didn't seem like the running type, and certainly not in her suit and high heels.

Roslin paused in her dabbing and gave Kara one of her best politician smiles. "Well, Lieutenant, I thought _you_ were my security. And...here...you are!"

"Shall I escort you to your shuttle?" Not that she wanted to, but Kara felt duty bound to make the offer.

"In a few minutes, yes, thank you, I would appreciate that."

Roslin hadn't offered any explanation for why she was there, and while Kara had never been much of one for protocol, or even manners, it was obvious a blunt question wouldn't do. There wasn't much in this part of _Galactica_ except for private quarters--Baltar's quarters, Tigh's quarters, the Old Man's quarters...

Studying her handiwork on Kara's face, Roslin remarked, "Much improved, I think. Pity about the black eye."

Kara felt her skin grow warm, and then kicked herself mentally for feeling ashamed of not being a "lady." _At least I'm not soft and useless_, she thought, _fit only for decoration or...politics...ugh_.

"Oh no," said Roslin, evidently in response to Kara's color. "Please don't think I'm making light of what you did--flushing out that assassin. You saved my life--you and Captain Adama."

"Thank you Ma'am," she mouthed obediently.

"No, Lieutenant, thank _you_. And may I say you look lovely tonight. You deserve more opportunities to dress up and show off."

"I don't know, Ma'am." Kara didn't feel "lovely," and the dress was significantly askew. It was pretty frakking obvious she'd ripped it off and then climbed back into it in a hurry. "The dress is okay, but what sadist invented high-heeled shoes?"

The President laughed at Kara's joke. Or at least she pretended to. "I don't know the answer to that one, but if we find out, I'll help you put him out an airlock."

_Airlock_, thought Kara, and cringed. No, this woman was definitely not soft. No one soft could have done what she did to Leobon Conoy without so much as a backward glance. Kara had never been too sure what Lee saw in the President, but Lee listened attentively to her opinions and seemed to regard her with something like awe. When Kara looked at Laura Roslin, she saw an aging woman who was out of her depth, but who compensated by always being perfectly groomed and never raising her voice. She couldn't fly a viper or throw a punch. Yet a Cylon spy didn't frighten her. And Kara knew she'd butted heads with the commander on a number of occasions, and often...won. Nobody else had _ever_ done that. Which was probably exactly what Lee saw in her.

"So I guess you've been celebrating too?" Kara decided to try probing, though she didn't kid herself about having a talent for subtlety. She guessed there might have been a quiet after-party drink and a chat with the commander. That would be reasonable and perfectly innocent.

"Hmm?" said Roslin, as if she didn't know what Kara was getting at.

"Colonial Day. Victory over that creep, Zarak. Drinking to the success of your new Vice-President. You deserve a celebration more than any of us. I'd rather face a dozen Cylon raiders on my own than have worn your shoes for the past couple of days." The last bit kind of popped out, and Kara thought she might have gone too far.

"Ah." Roslin stepped back and examined the results of her efforts. "Your make-up's repaired. Hmm. Fluff the hair a little?"

"Do your worst, Ma'am."

Since neither of them had a comb, Roslin used her fingers to tease out the knots and restore Kara's hairstyle to some approximation of what it had been earlier in the evening.

"Well," said Roslin, "I hope I haven't rescued us from the frying pan only to land us in the fire. Dr. Baltar has some unique abilities, which we need very badly--including the ability to charm the media. However, I don't fully trust him and neither does Commander Adama. And neither should you." The last was delivered blandly but with significant eye contact.

"Trust him?" Kara jumped back in alarm, and tried to cover her dismay by checking herself in the mirror. "Hey, I don't even _like_ the guy."

"Good. I think that's best. I really do."

_Frak,_ thought Kara. _Frak, frak, frak, frak. She knows..._

Roslin turned her attention back to Kara's hair. "There, what do you think?"

Kara exhaled in relief that she no longer looked like the town drunk, but mostly resembled herself--the cleaned up version--again. "Much better, thank you, Ma'am."

Roslin smiled, then turned to examining her own face in the mirror. "I think we're just about ready to appear in public." The President stepped back to check her clothing, and unbuttoned her jacket to adjust the collar of her blouse.

Kara caught a glimpse of something that looked like a bruise low on Roslin's throat, and thought she must have imagined the President muttering, "Frak," under her breath.

_Nah,_ thought Kara. _That would just be too weird._

The collar rearranged, Roslin re-buttoned her jacket, and tugged it into place. "Okay," she said. "If you'd be kind enough to escort me to my shuttle, I'll be on my way."

"Of course, Ma'am."

They got as far as the entrance to the port flight pod with few encounters and minimal conversation. But then Kara's luck ran out.

"Chin up, Lieutenant," Roslin said for Kara's ear alone. "Here comes Captain Adama."

Kara thought she might be sick again.

"Madam President." Lee smiled and dipped his head to Roslin. Then he looked at Kara with an expression somewhere between annoyance and appreciation. "Lieutenant, I've been looking for you for over an hour. Where have you been?"

"I--" Kara tried to think fast. For all her many talents, she was a crap liar and she knew it.

To her amazement, Roslin came to the rescue. "I'm sorry, Captain, but I'm afraid that's all my fault. I needed to take care of a couple of things here before heading back to _Colonial One_, and I high-jacked the Lieutenant to...well...to keep me from getting lost. _Galactica_ is still something of a maze to me. I hope that's not a problem."

The excuse was pretty lame, but it was clear from Lee's face that he'd bought it without question. Maybe it was Roslin's quiet air of authority. Or maybe it was the dazzling smile. Kara didn't care. _Thank you thank you thank you,_ she thought, not caring to examine the reasons why the President would chose to cover her sorry ass.

"No problem at all, Madam President." Lee had a pretty dazzling smile of his own.

_Damn him._

"Lieutenant, as soon as the President is on board her shuttle, I want you to get to your rack. Big day tomorrow--you've got a lot of work to do on your pet raider."

"Yeah, I know, L--Captain."

"Good."

_Smug bastard_.

"I'll see you in the morning, Lieutenant."

_Frak you._ She saluted and smiled at him--as sweetly as she could manage.

Roslin waited for Lee to move out of earshot, watching him as he greeted the on-duty pilots and crew. As always, he was polite and correct, never quite crossing over to friendly. "Is he much like his brother?"

Kara felt all the blood drain from her face. Her nausea came back, threatening to have her down on her knees, retching into the nearest drain.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Roslin flushed and furiously backpedaled. "I didn't think. Please forgive my stupidity."

"No," said Kara. "It's okay. Just took me by surprise is all." _Zak,_ she thought. _Oh, dear Gods, Zak... Lee... Baltar... Lords of Kobol, please open up a small breach in the hull, just large enough to suck me out into space where I can die right now._ "And the answer is no, they're nothing alike."

Roslin looked at her, clearly hoping for more; just as clearly not about to press.

"Zak was..." Kara spread her arms helplessly. "Larger than life. So sure of himself. Made you want to believe he could do anything. Even...even when he couldn't." Her grief for him might hit her less frequently these days, two years and a lifetime after his death, but it was no less painful for all that. "Lee, on the other hand--"

"Is wound up so tight that if he ever explodes, we'll be observing the birth of a new solar system at close hand."

Kara nodded in agreement with the President's assessment. "Yeah. That about sums it up."

Roslin nodded. "I hope you don't mind my saying so, Lieutenant, but I don't think you're chasing a ghost."

Kara said nothing. The woman was too damn perceptive. It was almost worse than having Leobon Conoy crawling around inside her head.

"...And you've no reason to punish yourself."

This had to stop. Being cornered, whether by Cylon raiders or a too-clever superior officer, always cleared Kara's head and sent her leaping ahead of her opponent. Something nagged at her, and she let her instincts add up the column of coincidences. The cozy dancing at the party. Roslin's presence in a part of the ship housing nothing but senior officers' quarters. The bruise on Roslin's throat. Cheeks flushed from exertion. The scent in Roslin's hair that reminded Kara, not of some_thing_ familiar, but of some_one_ familiar. Her eagerness to lie to Lee to give Kara an alibi for her whereabouts.

_Frak me_, Kara thought, _It's not my ass she was anxious to cover._ She laughed out loud.

"Lieutenant?"

"Nothing, sorry." Kara bit her lip, then grinned. "I just wanted you to know that you can totally count on my discretion, Madam President." _But if you frak with him, you'll be answering to me._

For a brief moment, Roslin actually looked flustered, but the moment passed almost before it had begun. "Thank you, Lieutenant, that's good to know. And, of course, you can count on mine."

"Ma'am."

"I'll wish you a good night then, Lieutenant. I can manage the rest of the way on my own. You'd best get some sleep, like Captain Apollo said."

"Thank you, Ma'am. And good night to you too."

Kara watched Roslin pick her way across the pod deck to her shuttle. _One thing's for sure,_ Kara thought, not without a certain amount of admiration. _I'm never gonna play cards with that bitch._

The End


	5. Know Thyself

Title: Error in Judgment; Part 5: Know Thyself

Author: Grace O'Malley PG-13

Word count: 2,517

Characters: Lee, Roslin, Adama

Archiving: The more the merrier, but please let me know so I can provide any corrections and/or additional parts.

Disclaimers: Not my world; not my characters :sigh:

Spoilers: Through KLG2

_"... Redeem our hearts, that they may find peace in the midst of war--"_ **Elosha in Kobol's Last Gleaming, Part 2.**

Laura Roslin sat on her bunk, her legs stretched out along the thin mattress. "This isn't over yet, Captain. I know it may look like the end...but it's really just the beginning."

Lee regarded his cellmate with skepticism. "Did you have a vision?"

"Of this? No."

"I'm sorry." He felt guilty for taunting her. He might not share her unshakable conviction in their destinies, but he had begun to follow the logic which had led her--led both of them--inexorably to _Galactica_'s brig.

"It's all right, Captain, really. I know how it ridiculous it sounds. I didn't believe it either, but the pieces just kept falling into place until I couldn't ignore them any longer."

"I just wish they'd tell us something." Lee began to pace. It was all he did these days: pace and do push-ups and sit-ups--something, anything, to pass the time and occupy his pent up energy. He let his voice rise to encompass the silent marines guarding their cell, "I want to know if my father is alive or dead. Is that too damn much to ask?"

"Orders," was all they would ever say. Whose damn orders? He wanted to know.

Laura's expression held concern and pain.

"Stop it," he said to her. "This isn't your fault. I made my own decision for my own reasons--and if I had it to do over again, I'd decide the same way."

"I know." She sighed. "But that's not the point is it? I pushed the crisis. It had been coming...well, since Ragnar, really. But I picked the time, and I only considered the impact on the fleet as a whole. I didn't concern myself with what it might mean for individuals--like you, like Lieutenant Thrace."

"I've been over it and over it in my mind, and I can't see how anything any of us did or didn't do could have stopped...that thing...we all believed was Sharon from shooting him."

When the door opened, Lee assumed it was just another change in the guard. Then his heart leaped into his throat when he realized the bent figure entering the door, leaning heavily on a walking frame, was his father. In his heart, Lee thanked the Gods.

Hunched over the frame, his father looked terrible. He'd lost weight, and skin hung loose at his throat. His hair had grayed almost overnight, adding another ten years to his apparent age. Love him or hate him, Lee's father had always been an indestructible fact of life. Even fearing the Old Man might be dead hadn't prepared Lee for this. For the first time ever the words "Dad" and "frail" sat side-by-side in the same thought.

But the bloodshot eyes were no less filled with rage than they'd been the last time Lee had seen them open. A marine brought a chair, setting it down a safe distance away from the cell, then saluted and left them in private. His father ignored the chair and stood close to the bars. He wouldn't look at Lee.

Lee's stomach tied itself into a knot.

The President did not get up, but her greeting was warm, "Commander Adama, it's good to see you on your feet."

From any one else in her position, the remark would have rung false. But Lee had no doubt that Laura Roslin meant exactly what she said. His father might have sent armed marines to threaten her life and take her prisoner, he might have had her locked up and held incommunicado, but she was genuinely glad to learn he was alive and able to leave his hospital bed.

"Miss Roslin."

She gave a half-smile and an almost imperceptible snort of amusement at his father's failure to use her title.

Lee had to try. "Dad--"

"I don't talk to mutineers."

Finally his father looked at him--with a glare of pure hatred.

"Ah," said Lee, determined, as always, to give as good as he got. "Of course. Why didn't I realize? A traitor is too good to talk to a mutineer."

"Traitor?" He gave a dismissive snort. "The time came for you to chose a side, and you chose hers."

They stared at each other for a long moment. Lee thought of a dozen things to say, but knowing all of them would fall on deaf ears, he didn't bother. He supposed his father was expecting him to grovel and beg forgiveness. If he did so, he'd be scorned; by refusing to do so, he found himself despised. He would never measure up in his father's eyes, and it was about time he stopped caring.

It was Roslin who ended the stalemate. She rose, and moved to stand between them. "Gentlemen, please." She turned a warning look on Lee who reluctantly moved away to sit on his own bunk. Then she refocused her attention on his father.

"You really don't know him at all, do you? He didn't choose _my_ side. He doesn't agree with me or support what I did. He chose the one thing he values more than you. The thing _you_ taught him to revere--the law."

His father had nothing to say to that.

Roslin returned to her seat; she kept her feet on the floor, legs crossed at the ankles.

Gripping the cell bars, his father didn't take his eyes off Roslin. "Why didn't you tell me?"

She ignored his question, instead asking one of her own. "I would like to know where my people are. Billy? Elosha? My security guards?"

His father cleared his throat. "They're confined to _Colonial One._"

"I see." She appeared satisfied with the answer. "And the Quorum? I expect they've been asking questions."

"I'll be addressing them as soon as I'm able."

"Good." She nodded approval. "That's essential. Are you planning to bring me up on some kind of charges? Am I allowed to know what they are? Or are you simply going to denounce me as a Cylon and have me put out an airlock?"

When she received no answer, she returned to musing out loud. "Although dragging me through a competency hearing in front of the assembled Quorum might not be in your best interests, there is merit in at least making a show of the form--"

"Why the hell didn't you tell me about your illness?"

"Since it seems you know, I guess I didn't need to." She shook her hair back out of her face. "Your doctor, I take it?"

"He needed my permission to have your medications brought to you."

"Of course. Has Lieutenant Thrace returned?"

"No."

Concern crossed her otherwise impassive face, and she hesitated a moment before saying anything. At some point, her desire to comfort overcame fear of ridicule. "She will. Don't worry."

"And you know this because you saw it in a vision?" He sneered.

"Yes." Her answer was completely matter-of-fact. "I don't always understand what I've seen until it actually happens--like being hunted by your marines. Not until it started did I realize I already knew. But I've seen Lieutenant Thrace on Kobol, and I know she hasn't been there yet. Therefore, she will return, and the people stranded by the Raptor crash either have been or will be rescued."

"Have been."

She nodded her pleasure at the news.

"One dead."

"I'm sorry."

"We had an agreement." His voice was so low the words came out like a growl.

Lee had seen that look on his father's face before. Incredulity. He simply could not understand that someone might legitimately take a different view of whatever facts were on the table.

Roslin looked right back, with no apologies on her face or in her manner. "I don't recall agreeing that the civilian government served at _your_ pleasure."

His father spoke through gritted teeth, "We agreed that I would have the final say over military matters."

"Ah yes. 'Military matters.' A fluid concept..." She sighed. "Didn't you understand that, at some point, a direct conflict between civilian and military priorities was inevitable?"

He grew agitated. "I couldn't have you suborning my personnel for your...fantastical whims."

She grimaced at his characterization of her drive to fulfill the prophecy and find Earth as a whim. But she responded with thoughtful, if blunt, advice. "Whatever you do, don't wait for me to die in your custody. If that happens, no autopsy will convince the press you didn't have me--"

A roar like a wounded predator cut her off.

Lee sprang off his bunk and flung himself toward the cell bars. Terrified his father would reopen his wounds, Lee was almost equally afraid his father was so angry he would try to physically harm Roslin.

Still ignoring Lee, his father looked around as if desperately seeking a safe target for his fury. He found one in the chair, which he picked up and hurled across the room, sending it crashing into the opposite wall. Then he half-collapsed over the walking frame.

When he caught his breath, he addressed Roslin once more, his voice no more than a hoarse whisper, "How could...you...allow me to make love to you, and not see fit to tell me that you're dying from cancer? How could you break your word to me, and send someone you know I care for deeply on suicidal fool's errand? How could you betray me?"

Roslin didn't flinch at either his action or his words.

Lee tried to remember how to breathe. Inhaling worked after a moment, but exhaling was harder.

Marine guards, who couldn't have missed the noise, burst in with weapons at the ready.

"I'm okay." His father waved them off.

Roslin stepped in as if she expected them to take direction from her, "Please replace the chair and help the Commander into it. We're almost finished here."

The guards looked at their commanding officer, who nodded that they should comply. When they were done, he told them simply, "Three minutes."

They saluted him and left.

Lee stayed where he was, but neither his father nor Roslin would meet his eyes. By this time, he was grateful to have become invisible. He felt like a small boy again, unsuccessfully trying to ignore one of parents' many arguments. Worse, he couldn't shake an unsettling memory of having once walked into his parents' bedroom at the wrong time.

His father shifted the chair closer to the cell and reached out to grasp the bars with both hands.

Roslin got up and went to him. She gently placed her hand over his father's whitened knuckles. Worry creased her forehead. "You've got to take care of yourself. Did you really think this through before you started it?"

She received no reply, but he looked up at her. Still angry, but...listening.

"You don't have the manpower to simply occupy the fleet, and you can't 'command' civilians. They won't obey; they must be convinced. You're going to have to _lead_ them." She covered his other hand with hers and looked down at him. "You can do that. I believe you can. But if you're going to succeed, you'll have to become..." Her glance darted around the room, as if she was searching for the answer scrawled across her prison's walls.

She compressed her lips into a line, and redirected her gaze directly into the commander's eyes. "We both know you can be ruthless, but the question is: are you ruthless enough?"

His father was less skilled than the President at concealing emotion. He tore his gaze away from hers and appeared to be studying the Spartan cell. Two bunks, a metal toilet with no seat, a sink. Nothing more.

"I didn't tell you because I feared you would use the information against me."

He glared at her, but the pain in his eyes was something Lee had seen before. When Zak died.

Roslin capitulated, but her voice stayed level as always. "I didn't tell you because I didn't want you looking at me like you are right now--with my death in your eyes. When I reached for you, I reached for life. You made me want to live."

A long silence was punctuated only by his father's labored breathing. Finally, he spoke, "Do you need anything?"

"A change of clothes and a toothbrush would be nice. Also...I'd appreciate some kind of screen. I've gotten used to ignoring the guards, but I'd rather not have to pee in front of your son."

His father actually looked embarrassed.

"I'll take care of it."

"Thank you."

He released the bars, and pulled the walking frame around so he could use it to help him rise to standing from the chair. He stood for a moment, just looking at her, sad and resigned.

Her slender hand, the nails groomed short and unpolished, reached out from between the bars to caress his cheek. "You look bad. Don't take on too much on too soon. You've got to get better; the fleet needs you now more than ever."

Eyes pressed closed, he turned his face into her hand and kissed the palm. He then turned away without speaking and began the slow shuffle toward the door.

"Bill," she called after him.

He paused, but did not turn around.

"I don't expect you to believe this, but I do love you and nothing is going to change that."

Shoulders squared and back as straight as the need to lean on the walker would allow, he completed the journey to the door and walked out.

She lingered for a moment, holding on to the bars and looking at the door.

"Well." Lee exhaled sharply. "That explains a lot."

Roslin looked at him, visibly struggling to keep her composure, but blushing crimson anyway.

"Captain, I--"

Lee couldn't recall ever having seen her flustered before.

The first attempt a failure, she tried again. "Lee--"

"No," he cut her off. "Don't say anything. You don't owe me an explanation. You're both adults and you're both perfectly free, and it's nobody's business. Certainly not mine."

Roslin went back to her bunk to sit, but Lee chose to remain where he stood.

She opened her mouth to speak. Closed it again. Looked around, shifted in her seat, and tucked her hair behind her ears. Finally she succeeded in choking out a few words. "That's not how--"

Lee interrupted her by putting up a hand. He really did not want to hear just how his father and the President had intended to break it to him that they were lovers.

Leaning against the bars, he folded his arms across his chest. "Well, you know, if you do want my opinion, I think it's great. You're perfect for one another."

Her half-smile looked bemused.

"That's not a compliment," he added, and he meant it, but he couldn't suppress a grin.

Roslin started to laugh--a deep full-body laugh that left her shaking with her face helplessly screwed up.

There was nothing for Lee to do but laugh with her.

The End


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